Undefeated
by sammyiammy
Summary: Lash Attwood was not a world-class supervillain. Not even close. In fact, the most he ever managed was sort-of-evil, dime-store sidekick. But he did manage it, and it was all because of a Save the Citizen challenge from a girl he more-than-liked. Without her, all he would have to his name is swirlies and locker-stuffing. Now, he's undefeated. Lash/OC.


**_Sky High_ and its universe belong to Disney and its affiliates. The inspiration for this story belongs to Disney Channel's decision to spring one of my favorite movies on me when I least expect it.  
**

There are only so many ways to approach the topic of burgeoning supervilliany that aren't shouting: "Which of you plan on being evil?"

One is categorizing young heroes by power. Flight, super-strength and heart go to one side of the room; mind control, identity absorption, and planet-eating to the other. The only problem with power-based sorting is invisibility. On one hand, an invisible hero is uniquely equipped to eavesdrop on conferences of villainy. On the other, locker rooms.

Another slightly more modern method utilizes a hero with psychic abilities, or, in the event that one can't be reached, a lie detector. Students are asked "Have you ever dreamed of taking over the world?" and anyone who says yes (or thinks it) is shuffled off to a special seminar on why normal, everyday humans don't deserve subjugation. Unfortunately, several parents brought up the issue of small-scale villainy, rendering the whole operation useless and leaving The Auger unemployed yet again.

It wasn't until Sky High found itself without a suitable gym program that superbeings stumbled upon the most effective measure of good and evil the world has ever known: Save the Citizen.

Admittedly, there are a few kinks in the system. One such whoopsie came in the form of the long-undefeated champions of Save the Citizen, Jonathan McLean and Asher Attwood. Speed and Lash, to Sky High's average denizen. It took three solid months of the "heroes or villains" routine – more time than it took for the approval of the pair's petition to have customized nameplates for the scoreboard made (Attwood and McLean just weren't cutting it) – before someone stopped to think that maybe they should keep an eye on the two of them.

Of course, if their teachers had paid a little more attention to class discussions, that conclusion could have been reached when the pair's reign of terror was still in gestation.

"Supervillain name. Go."

"Super_hero_ name," prompted Mr. Chick from the front of the classroom. Despite what the lettering on his door would lead you to believe, Chick never actually taught 'Conduct, Ethics and Morality,' choosing instead to read his own line of comics and occasionally nudge his classes back towards whatever topic the janitor had written on the board the night before.

Speed sighed loudly and parroted, "Superhero name."

Every single student in the room, be they perched on one of the chairs circled around the day's discussion leader or cross-legged on the floor, let out a small groan. Not once had Speed been left in charge and not turned the group's focus to hero names. Still, identities, secret and otherwise, were one of most important parts of being a cape, making it a rare day that anyone actually voiced a complaint.

"I, for one, am partial to The Flash."

"You can't be The Flash," said a thin black boy across the circle. "It's taken."

"Then I'll be Barry Allen, Mr. Know It All." Speed made a face that was probably meant to be menacing before moving on. "Thoughts, Lash?"

Lash pretended to think it over, then gave his standard answer: "The Whip."

"You sound like a dominatrix."

Mr. Chick turned the page of his comic. "Inappropriate, Miss Malone."

"Yeah, Miss Malone," said Lash, stretching to muss up the hair of a girl several feet away. "Inappropriate."

She swatted his hand away. "Shut up, Captain Ball Gag."

Speed crossed his legs and propped his head up on one elbow. It was a pose he took whenever he was trying to look official. With great formality, he said, "Miss Malone – Farrah, if you will. Since you decided to call the group's attention to yourself, please share _your_ ideas on superhero names."

She mimicked his pose as best she could, though the floor made crossing one leg across the other considerably more difficult and her expression was considerably less than interested. "Well, Speed, as you pointed out, my name is already Farrah Malone. Take away two letters and ta-da: half of my powers." Catching the eye of a girl who was mouthing out all the letters of her name, she clarified, "Farrah Mone. Pheromone."

The black boy from earlier chimed in again. "That's definitely cheating. Bruce Wayne could've just gone with Bayne – as in, 'bane of the criminals of Gotham City' – but how dumb would that be?"

Farrah turned her chair towards him, scuffing up the shiny wood floor. Mr. Chick either didn't notice or, more likely, didn't care. "What are _you_ going with, then?"

"Blades." He gave a moment for his brilliance to sink in before adding, "With a _z._"

"It's taken, dipshit," said Lash, imitating his earlier tone almost perfectly.

"With. A. Z."

"No!" yelled Speed. "You can't just take the name of the world's most famous black superhero and add a z to it! If Farrahmone over here is cheating, you're basically taking the sanctity of superhero names and fucking it in the ass! Sorry, Mr. Chick."

"No problem," replied Chick. He licked his thumb and used it to unstick two particularly well-worn pages. "And Eric?"

"Yeah?"

"'Bladez' is totally cheating. Also, stupid."

Speed raised his arms in triumph.

"I might go with Nebulass," offered a freckly girl named Anne. She was answered with blank stares. Manipulating objects in space wasn't something most of the class was familiar with. Nevertheless, she tried to explain. "You know, like all the stuff the Hubble picks up? Because I can move it. With my brain."

"Dumb," announced Moderator Speed. As if to agree with his ruling, the bell rang.

Chick peered over the top of his reading material. "Write a paragraph on why names are a crucial part of your identity for homework. Or don't. Whatever."

The class filed out the door. Most headed for the lunch room, wherein lied the temptation of hero sandwiches and unregulated thick-crust pizza. Several went for the bathrooms. Farrah, in what was probably less an attempt to be different and more a practical way to get the bagged lunch from her locker, went the opposite direction. She was barely ten feet down the hallway when an arm wrapped around her waist. All the way around. She stopped short and turned inside her captor's grip. "I don't want any part in your sadomasochism, Mister Bottom."

"I like that one," Lash answered, reeling her in. She made a brief resistance attempt but quickly gave in and walked towards him. "But only because it means I can call you Miss Top."

"Inappropriate, Mr. Attwood." She pressed a hand against his chest to keep him from getting too close. It wasn't particularly effective. Even in their natural state, his arms were more than long enough to reach past hers and mess up her hair. Again. Just one more of the day-to-day downsides of a relationship with someone who was 6'2" and still growing.

Apparently done with ruining her braid, he cupped one hand beneath her chin and lifted it up until he could comfortably look into her eyes, then flashed her a grin. "If you really want, you can be Cowgirl instead."

"No." She squirmed out of his arms and straightened her bag. Her hair stayed as it was. "I draw the line at Cowgirl. I was okay with Miss Top. Why couldn't you have stay there?"

He caught her hand before she was out of normal-human reach and spun her back around. "Because dirty Farrah is my favorite Farrah."

A smile threatened to break through her scowl. "Try again."

"Because." He tilted his head back, staring very intently at the ceiling. "'Girl Who Lash More-Than-Likes' isn't a viable superhero name."

Staring down the bridge of his nose with squinted eyes, he attempted to gauge her reaction. Her expression didn't change, but she gave his hand a soft squeeze. "Better answer. Now return to your Speed. He looks lost without you."

Despite the fact that, yes, Speed was standing disoriented in front of the windows at the end of the hallway, Lash couldn't help but watch Farrah walk away. Not even her looking back to say goodbye stopped him from staring at her ass. He managed a quick glance up at her face, but tight jeans had always been one of his greatest weaknesses.

"Hey." She snapped her fingers until he made eye contact. It took longer than either of them would have liked to admit. "I'll tell you what: you and Barry Allen win Save the Citizen today, and we can figure out a whole new name for me."

"Speed!" Lash whirled around, legs stretching willy-nilly in his attempt to reach his partner-in-crime as quickly as possible. "Speed! Get your game face on!"

**Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it, and stay tuned for more.  
**


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